


syncopate my skin to your heart beating

by thinksideways



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinksideways/pseuds/thinksideways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it starts when Aaron accidentally-on-purpose ends up working late when he knows Alexander’s working late too, goes over to his office because maybe he has a legal question and maybe he just wants to see if Alexander’s wearing those same tight breeches.<br/>(He is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	syncopate my skin to your heart beating

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a goofing off distraction and turned into complete Sin.
> 
> also this fic is dedicated to Hanna who encourages these things and doesn't mind getting horrible texts at all hours.

Maybe it starts with a pair of breeches that are just a hair too tight for Alexander. Or because it’s been awhile, for Aaron. Or because Aaron can’t take his eyes off Alexander but those breeches are just so goddamn _tight_ he can see the outline of muscle on Alexander’s thighs.

(Maybe it starts in a lot of ways.)

Aaron makes a comment one day, almost offhand - _you look nice, Alexander_ \- but it pours fuel on the fire, because Alexander, in all his infuriating genius, reads something else in that comment, or reads the hunger in Aaron’s gaze. Or maybe Aaron hadn’t been as coy as he’s thought, that the hunger is writ large across his face.

The comment starts…well, it starts _something_ between them, gives a strange weight to their interactions that wasn’t there before, another kind of tension to their words, the way they moved around one another. It all feels strange and leads to dreams that have Aaron twisting the sheets into knots around his legs, have him waking up sweating and hard in his nightclothes.

***

Maybe it starts when Aaron accidentally-on-purpose ends up working late when he knows Alexander’s working late too, goes over to his office because maybe he has a legal question and maybe he just wants to see if Alexander’s wearing those same tight breeches.

(He is.)

And yeah, the question leaves his mind because Alexander looks disheveled and rough and wild, and it’s nothing Aaron ever thought he wanted, or even _liked_ , but his body says otherwise because suddenly it’s like he’s _aching,_ like he’s this goddamn teenager instead of a man nearing thirty.

Alexander rises to greet him, mildly curious at Aaron’s appearance, but standing just draws the breeches tight across his thighs, across his groin. Aaron pointedly does _not_ look there, stares at a space a few inches to the left of Alexander’s head like the constitution was written there.

“Yes?” Alexander prompts, but he’s smiling, and it’s a _good_ smile, honest and open. He’s not mad at being interrupted, not mad that Aaron’s caught him at this late hour, torn him away from the sheaf of papers spread over the desk. But Aaron’s tongue feels oddly dry in his mouth, parched.

“I’m looking for…” he had a question. He knows he did. Something pertinent that warranted a trip next door, that warranted coming into Alexander’s office. But his mouth is so _dry_.  

Alexander’s brow quirks as he folds his arms across his chest, clearly enjoying this.

“For…?’ he prompts, and something in his tone is teasing, prompting, and the room seems to shift, the air sucked out of it. The same new, weird tension that’s developed between them is back, hanging in the air like a miasma.

Aaron doesn’t respond but walks closer until only the desk separates them. The desk is covered in papers with no discernable order, spread in flurries across the wooden grain. Alexander is still standing, and the table hits him mid-thigh. Aaron notices this immediately and can’t help but steal another glimpse at Alexander’s breeches. And maybe he’s imagining it but Alexander seems to have grown larger within them, and Aaron swallows.

“Alexander,” he tries again. His mouth is still dry. He still has no idea what to say. He feels like he should apologize, that this was a mistake, “I…”

Alexander cuts him off.

“Not much of a wordsmith, are you?”

“Not tonight, apparently.”

“Not ever, in my experience.”

The familiar banter is back, seemingly light but maybe with an edge of cruelty to it, and it helps wrench Aaron from the daze he’s been sucked into. He meets Alexander’s eyes.

“Just because I don’t feel the need to vomit up everything that comes to mind…”

“You came into my office, Burr,” Alexander is talking over him, and he’s walking around the desk, wanting to face him, like this is suddenly some sort of challenge. There’s barely a foot of space between them and Aaron is acutely aware of every inch.

“Clearly a mistake.”

“Clearly.”

“I should go.”

“Tell you what, Aaron; I think you had something else in mind.”

“Maybe I did.”

He can see the rise and fall of Alexander’s chest, see the wide pupils in his blazing eyes. The tension in the air grows from miasma to a storm, and Aaron can’t quite put a name to what to call the tension, if Alexander’s about to punch him or kiss him.

Turns out, it’s the latter.

They’re close enough that he’s not sure who moves first, which is for the best, because later they can each claim it was the other who first crossed the line. They clash, grabbing, and maybe it was meant to be a fight by the way their fingers sink into skin, by the way their lips collide, hard, a crash of skin and breath that leaves no room for romance. Aaron’s hand flies to Alexander’s leg, grips it hard, feeling the strength of his thigh beneath the thin cotton of his breeches.

The kiss steadies, turns less brutal, allowing for them to find a rhythm. Their grips on one another loosen, turn from anchoring to exploratory. Aaron’s hand moves from Alexander’s thigh to the front of his breeches, finds Alexander’s hard beneath his palm. He slides his palm along his length, a little rough, but Alexander groans eagerly at the touch and rocks into him.

Alexander slips his thigh between Aaron’s legs and Aaron ruts against it hungrily. It's still rough, this, bodies still together in more of a collision than anything resembling romance, but it _works,_ and Aaron moans “oh, God,” against the rough line of Alexander’s neck, and he doesn't know if he's praying or blaspheming. Alexander doesn't say anything, which is odd, but his lips are busy on Aaron’s earlobe, fingers cupped tight and strong against the back of his neck.

Aaron’s never really confronted this in his mind, this _need_ , and it's overwhelming to have this man pressed against him, hungry, to be rutting against his taut thigh, and there’s a moment that he almost steps away - not because he doesn't want it, but because it’s too _much_ \- but then Alexander’s hand is where his thigh once was, and he undoes Aaron’s breeches with a kind of dexterity Aaron still has the brain to marvel at. He doesn’t step away. Alexander pushes Aaron’s breeches down and sinks to his knees, Aaron’s hand still in his hair.

It turns out Alexander is a _tease -_ he doesn't immediately take Aaron intro his mouth, as he had expected him to – mostly he’d expected it because it was the nature of this affair, the hastiness in which they had collided, the need that haunted their movements. Instead, Alexander licks at Aaron’s thighs, long terrible strokes of the tongue that take him within a hair’s breadth of Aaron’s straining cock. But Alexander ignores it, now, going from one thigh to the next, terribly slow, and Aaron’s cursing him, cursing this, his hand still tangled in Alexander's hair but he doesn’t pull his head where he wants - needs - it to go, not yet, he’s determined not to be the one who breaks. He senses this is some kind of test, some strange contest created in Alexander’s infuriatingly busy mind. So even though he’s twitching and needy in a way he’s unused to, he lets Alexander tease.

Alexander relents, finally, and Aaron feels a split second of triumph before Alexander licks a stripe up the length of his cock and his thoughts spiral elsewhere, spiral into the warm wet sensation of his tongue, the low pleased noise Alexander makes as he takes Aaron further into his mouth. His hands move to Aaron’s hips for leverage, thumbs digging into his hipbones. Aaron’s dumbstruck for a moment, watching Alexander’s lips stretch wide and ready around his cock, watch the way his eyes flutter half-closed as if he’d rather be nowhere else.

And still, Alexander is infuriatingly _slow_.

He’s taken Aaron almost completely into his mouth by now but his head is still, tongue only lightly pressing against the head of Aaron’s cock but not moving, _atrociously_ still, not giving him quite what he needs (though he feels keyed up, strung wire-tight, he doesn’t need much but he needs _more_ ).

“ _Alexander_ ,” Aaron's aware of how needy he sounds, moaning Alexander’s name a sort of desperate exhale, his fingers tight in his dark hair. He’s been determined not to beg but maybe just saying his name is begging enough because Alexander does begin to move, slowly, head bobbing on Aaron’s cock, fingers tightening their grip. One hand moves from Aaron’s hip to his shaft, takes over what Alexander’s mouth can’t cover until Aaron feels immersed in it, warmth and slick and spit, the movement slow and torturous. Alexander hums, pleased (and whether it’s at the feel of Aaron’s cock in his mouth or the desperate way Aaron has said his name, he’ll never know, will never _want_ to know).

Alexander has a way of drawing his head back, lips dragging over the head of Aaron’s cock, tongue flicking lightly on the underside of his head when his mouth descends again. It’s practiced, _finessed_ , which makes it somehow filthier and Aaron whines. His knees, already made weak his Alexander’s ministrations, have begun to tremble and he takes a little stagger-step backward. Alexander removes his mouth from Aaron completely and graces him with a spit-slick smiles, rises up from his knees to guide Aaron back into Alexander’s desk chair, which Aaron sinks into gratefully, spread his thighs without being asked. He expects Alexander to say something, with his mouth free for the moment, but Alexander sinks back down and slips his mouth back onto Aaron’s cock, fully this time. His hand and mouth work in tandem, tongue flicking against the head. The free hand is splayed open on the dark expanse of Aaron’s thigh, fingers gripping him almost hard enough to hurt.

“God baby _yes_ ,” Aaron moans, aware too late of the endearment, but maybe it’s fitting because Alexander does look fucking beautiful like this, eyes mostly closed and hands working. He remembers once telling Alexander to talk less and smile more, when he clearly should have suggested this as something Alexander could do with his mouth instead.

Alexander seems to respond to the praise, moves his head quicker, another muffled hum rising from his preoccupied lips.

“You’re so good, baby,” Aaron continues, and that’s true enough – like most things he sets his mind to, Alexander seems to be a savant at this, as well, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if he’s as good as other things in the bedroom.

“You’re so good like this, mouth filled up, on your knees for me, _god_ \--,” he’d intended to go on but Alexander’s swallowed him deeper, and he watches his Adam’s apple bob as he takes him deeper, notes the reddened lips and shiny stretched corners of his mouth and it’s overwhelming, too much to look at all at once.

“Oh yeah, just like that baby, you’ve got me so close,” his eyes are half-closed but his hand is back in Alexander’s hair, stroking now, and Alexander takes the encouragement readily, quickens his head movements.

He has enough time before he comes to choke out _Alex--_ and he’s unable to finish the name but it doesn’t seem to matter, Alexander never loses his rhythm, cheeks lightly hollowed as he sucks Aaron dry and he thinks he’s never seen anything so wretchedly beautiful as this.

Alexander is hard and straining underneath his breeches when he rises up from his knees, leans over to kiss him. Alexander’s mouth is slick and salty but Aaron kisses him back eagerly. His hands fumble with the clasp of Alexander’s breeches, nowhere near as dexterous as Alexander had been, but Alexander is surprisingly patient and he figures it out soon enough. He pushes the breeches down and pulls Alexander nearly into his lap. He touches him, almost reverently – he has none of Alexander’s finesse (especially not now, with the blood just beginning to return to his brain), but Alexander still moans as Aaron’s hand wraps around his cock. It feels strange from this angle, and Aaron withdraws his hand, spits in the palm and returns it, which makes it much easier. He thinks for a moment he should tease him, as Alexander had done to him, and he _will_ , even though Alexander is already moaning and he just feels so good in his hand that Aaron can’t make himself stop quite yet. Instead he finds a rhythm with his hand, kisses his way up Alexander’s neck until his lips are pressed against his ear. He remembers the way Alexander had responded to his words, the praise, so he begins again, whispering low.

“You were so good to me, and now you’re going to be good _for_ me, aren’t you?”

A whimper, and precum leaks from the head of Alexander’s cock. Aaron forces his hand to slow. He needs a few more moments of this – Alexander’s eyes closed, whimpering, undone. Conquered, if only for a moment.

“I’m gonna make you come for me,” he murmurs, and draws his hand slowly up Alexander’s shaft, flicking his thumb over the head. His hand has gone dry again so he takes his hand away, presses his fingers against Alexander’s lips. Alexander needs no further encouragement, opens his reddened mouth and sucks on Aaron’s fingers. It’s sloppy and obscene and Aaron’s almost hard again at the sight of it.

“Just like that baby, get me wet for you, that’s good,” he croons, and reluctantly removes his fingers from Alexander’s mouth, returns them to his cock. His fingers play lightly over him for a moment before he grasps him again, strokes. His hand moves confidently now – it’s not so different from touching himself, really – and he knows Alexander’s close.

“Come for me, be a good boy,” he murmurs, and Alexander does, almost as if on cue, buries his face in Aaron’s shoulder and cries out into his skin. Aaron’s hand keeps moving even as Alexander spills over him, finishes with a final flick of his thumb over the head of his cock, a move that causes Alexander to whimper again.

It doesn’t last long, of course, too soon Alexander pushes himself upright and pulls his breeches back on. His hair retains only the barest semblance of its former ponytail and his cheeks are red beneath the stubble of beard. Aaron moves too, though his limbs still feels too loose in their sockets, when he stands to pull his breeches back on the world spins for a second and he has to blink once, deliberately, to clear his head. Neither man speaks, for a moment, standing in the office that now smells of sweat and sex, but then Alexander (of course) breaks the silence.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Aaron echoes, unsure where this is going. He is no longer so confident as he was when he had Alexander hard and keening above him, and wonders if he overstepped.

He doesn’t wonder long, however.

“We should do this again. Maybe in a bed.”

Aaron grins. When he meets Alexander’s eyes, he finds that he’s smiling, too.

“That would be nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING THIS POINTLESS EXERCISE IN SIN. Your comments are much appreciated.
> 
> This is marked as complete but I may add more chapters if the mood strikes, so. 
> 
> if you want to find me on tumblr I'm [here](http://thinksideways.tumblr.com/).


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